


Solo Mission

by DixieDale



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:01:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24885772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Sending Carter alone on a mission was always problematic.  Well, that was ONE of the words the guys used - there were others.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Solo Mission

**Author's Note:**

> Written for HH Short Story Speedwriting Challenge.

Sending Carter on a mission alone was always, well, problematic. Problematic enough they tried to avoid it if possible. Of course, sometimes there just wasn't much of a choice. Sometimes circumstances were such that he was the only one of the command crew, even of the part-timers who provided occasional support to the effort, who was available when the switch was thrown.

So it was in this case. When the call came through for Klink, and the Kommandant hurried to order up his car and a driver, only Carter was not otherwise occupied, could be chivied into the trunk of Klink's car with a fast set of instructions to find out as much as he could. Even then it was a close call, that trunk lid being shut only seconds before Klink scurried out of his quarters, Carter still scrambling to organize his thoughts.

He'd been given hurried instructions. "Do NOT get caught, or be seen, or do anything stupid", and "find out as much as you can about where he's going, who he's with, everything!"

That was from Hogan. From Newkirk, a fast muttering of "and do NOT get yourself all bunged up, Andrew! Tired of patching you up, I am!" though with an anxious note perhaps no one but the sergeant could have heard or understood.

"No sweat, Newkirk. Hey, just trailing along, seeing where ole Klink is headed, see who he meets, what he says? A piece of pie. Don't worry so much!" Carter had reassured him in an exuberant, if equally low voice. 

Newkirk exchanged a doubtful look with LeBeau, but didn't say any more as he quickly lowered that trunk lid into place. He would have volunteered to go in Carter's place, but he had a date with a safe. LeBeau had a high-level luncheon to prepare for the following day. They and the others would be waiting, anxiously, til the young man returned. They would have, whichever of the team had gone out alone, but they would be a lot more anxious with it being Carter.

Andrew Carter, well - the man was talented in several ways, certainly, but also clumsy, way too chatty, and had a way of walking into trouble. Oh, and he had one hell of a weird imagination, which could cause you to wonder a little about what he thought he saw or heard, as was the case when he made his report after this little excursion. 

Still, if Hogan allowed it, and he usually did, the crew DID try to listen to the debriefing afterwards; it was usually interesting in one manner or another. 

Sometimes there was even a betting pool. You know, whether Carter had come back with bruises (usually a safe bet), or how many times he would lose his train of thought in giving his report (the range was usually somewhere between four and eight, but sometimes an outlier would scoop that bet with a high [never a low] bid, or how fast Hogan would develop that little twitch along the corner of his jaw. The latter usually depended on how frustrating Hogan had found the last encounter with Klink, or maybe how long it had been since his last 'encounter' with Hilda or Tiger or some other woman who could take the pressure off (so to speak).

It was in the wee hours of the morning when the staff car pulled back in, and in the dark shadows the trunk slowly came open just enough for Carter to slip out and head to the kennels to enter through the trap door and then through the tunnels to the ladder and then up to the barracks. 

{"Boy, I hope the Colonel is in a good mood! This has a heck of a better chance of going okay if he is."}

"What was he doing there in the first place? Who the hell was he talking to??!" Hogan exclaimed with frustration after Carter got a few minutes into his debriefing. 

So far they'd heard about the trip into town tucked into the back of Klink's car - uneventful except for that really rough bump in the road that caused the tire iron to collide with Carter's head leaving another bump behind. 

Kinch nodded, knowing he had one point in the betting anyway - yep, there were bruises, alright.

They'd heard about the trip up the back stairs of the hotel, slipping past the kitchen, complete with a segue into how what LeBeau had fixed for dinner had smelled a heck of a lot better than what the cook THERE was fixing.

LeBeau smiled in satisfaction. {"Well, could there be any doubt? How they can even call that cooking, I will never understand."}. He was content as well with the fact that he'd bet Carter would lose his train of thought before he even got to what he saw with Klink.

They heard about how Carter had slipped into the next room over, was all set to listen at the connecting door, but heard someone rattling the door knob and had scuttled out the window, ending up perched on a limb outside the window of the room where Klink had gone. 

"And I couldn't just climb down and go back in, cause I figured someone would notice. I mean, my coming back in when I hadn't really come OUT in the first place. So there I was, kinda stuck, but it worked out okay, once I eased over a little and got closer. Of course, that branch was an old one, and kinda rotting and creaky, so I was pretty much crossing my fingers it wouldn't break off under me or anything."

Olsen repressed a grin. Yeah, his bet that Carter would get himself in a jam right off the bat? Right on.

"And I could hear just fine, but he didn't have but one light on, real low, so I didn't get a real good look, Colonel. Not enough to recognize him again if I saw him - I mean, to pick him out of a lineup or anything. But nothing really happened. Klink just seemed to be, well, TALKING. You know, like when you get together with a buddy and start swapping stories. Nothing important, at least not that I could tell. Just sitting there in the dark, the pair of them, Klink talking and drinking that schnapps he had brought with him, the other one just sitting there nodding, motioning him to 'go ahead' whenever Klink slowed down the stories."

Somehow Hogan had expected more. SOMETHING more. After all, Klink had lit out with such intent on his face, had been so adamant about getting into town immediately. There had to be more to it than sitting in a dark room gossiping with an old pal, not that he knew Klink to have many of those. Yes, he was frustrated, how could he NOT have been? Carter must have missed something, overlooked something!

The guys could read that frustration, could understand it - after all, the story was bewildering them as much as it obviously was their commanding officer.

Yes, the frustration was easy to understand, though what Carter claimed to have overheard from the Kommandant surely wasn't.

"Stories? That's all, he sat there for that long just telling stories? Could it have been some sort of code?" Hogan mused out loud.

"No, nothing like that, Colonel. Gee, even the stories we put together that time that WERE code made more sense than some of the ones Klink was telling. Some of the others . . . Did you know he studied art? And music? And won awards for both? At least that's what he was saying, though after seeing some of his drawing and hearing him play his violin, I gotta wonder. You think maybe all the time we just thought he was so bad at it, he was just faking us out? Boy, wouldn't that be something, huh?"

"Carter, yer barmy, that's w'at it is!" Newkirk said, slapping the sergeant on the back of his head. To the observer it probably looked like a good hard slap, though the Englishman gauged to a hair how to make it look good while in reality giving no more than a warning tap. It was a delicate balance, that little game they played, and they both found amusement and considerable satisfaction in the process.

"Ouch! Am NOT, Newkirk! I heard him, clear as anything. I remember one of the stories, too. He said, "I once accidentally bought a horse," (1) then started on this long really complicated story about some girl name of Elsa. It was a really neat story too, about how he thought he was buying this girl a drink, but it turned out he was really buying her brother's horse. See, she got really mad at her brother, I think his name was Ernst, cause he forgot to come get her from that sewing party because he was too busy teaching the horse - her name was Jaska or something like that, the horse, I mean - to bow and nod and shake hands and stuff. So, she decided to teach him a real good lesson, Elsa, you know, though I think that was really kinda mean, trying to sell his horse and everything. I mean, heck, if I had a horse I thought could learn to do tricks, I'd get all involved too! Hey, Colonel, do you think we could . . ."

"No, Carter, you cannot have a horse," Hogan said automatically, knowing what was coming next. "You have a mouse, that's as much as we have room for."

Carter sighed heavily, though giving a sly look at Newkirk, who just rolled his eyes in recognition of 'bait offered, bait taken', then got back to his story.

"So, he finishes, telling about how he took the horse back to the brother, that's Ernst, and tells him, "sorry about that, Ernst. I didn't understand she meant the horse was up for sale, I thought she meant . . ." And THEN, Klink says, the guy up and hits him! Somehow, Ernst got the notion that Klink was saying something real bad about his sister, and even though she stole his horse and everything, well, heck, she was STILL his sister! And then there was the story . . ."

"Enough, Carter! So, who was he talking to, do you know that??! Who was he - a uniform, an insignia - something! Anything to tell us who he could have been working for!!!" Hogan asked impatiently, running his hand through his hair. 

He didn't care so much about some strange stories a half-drunk Klink blabbered on about, he was interested in who a half-drunk Klink was spending time with! That could be totally innocuous or it could be a recipe for disaster, depending!

"He was wearing a fez, I remember," Carter hesitated, then with wide eyes answered. "I don't know who he mighta been working for. He wasn't wearing a uniform or anything. I don't know what he was but he was wearing a fez.(2) Don't see many around here, you know, but there was this guy who came through with a traveling show once, back home in Bullfrog, North Dakota, and he wore one, red with a black tassel. Pretty much like this one too, from what I could see, except I couldn't tell the color, though I think I saw a tassel, but maybe not. You ever wonder how they keep those things on? I didn't see a strap or anything, though maybe . . ."

"Carter, never mind the fez, describe the guy!!" Hogan was rapidly losing patience, enough he was tempted to give the sergeant a quick rap on the head like Newkirk had done. 

Newkirk saw that, knew that rap from Hogan wouldn't be a mocking tap, but something one hell of a lot harder, and he edged in between, nonchalance in his every move. Now Hogan would have to really stretch around to reach Carter and probably wouldn't make the effort. Even if he did, the reach would ensure the impact would be minimal.

"Geez, Colonel, I couldn't see him enough to make out many details, just his shadow most of the time. Seems like he was a real little guy, though you know how it is with shadows. What you think you see isn't really what's there all the time. Heck, even ole Klink, he looked real funny, leaning back in that chair, drinking that schnapps. If I didn't know better, I'd've thought he was a praying mantis or something like that, you know, real long and spindly. Of course, he really IS kinda spindly, but not near that long. Don't know what made me think of a praying mantis in the first place, though. Maybe the way he kept waving his arms around," Carter offered earnestly, giving his own arms a wave to demonstrate, smacking Newkirk in the jaw in the process, much to Newkirk's expressed displeasure and Carter's unexpressed (but certainly felt) amusement.

Hogan rubbed his forehead in sheer frustration. Waving his hand for Newkirk to shut the heck up and for Carter to continue, he sighed impatiently.

"So, was there ANYTHING we could identify him by? And what else did Klink talk about, anything here at the camp, or about troop movements, or anything else?"

"Nope, nothing else much, just them, sitting there, with Klink telling old stories."

That wasn't quite true. At least, Carter hadn't told EVERYTHING about that quiet dark room, who was there, what was shared. It didn't affect THEM, or Hogan, and it wouldn't be right, he KNEW that. His mom had taught him about giving people some space, some privacy, about stuff that was, well, PRIVATE, and he respected that. Well, his mom WAS real smart that way, had never steered him wrong.

So, there were things Carter would tell, things he wouldn't tell, and that third person, the one who'd sat beside Klink? The big woman who'd held him in her arms, let him lean his balding head on her shoulder, (well, really against her, um, chest), he knew her. Gerda, older sister to Drusilla, the girl he faintly remembered from an encounter in the woods, and the other one? The one who'd sat there listening? He'd been with the girl that day, Carter remembered quite specifically playing games with him - though, he didn't remember the fez from before. Maybe it was new? 

Still, somehow, and he wasn't sure how, he knew Gerda wasn't someone Hogan needed to know about. And, it wasn't like Klink had been telling her anything important, anything that would affect THEM. It was all real private stuff. And, he knew, what he'd seen was something private too, especially that last bit, and gee, he wouldn't want anyone to go blabbing about anything private they might know about HIM!

Carter's eyes purely shone with simple and sincere honesty, enough Hogan relaxed a little. Hogan relaxed - - - and Newkirk came to full alert, knowing there was a story HE might need to hear, later, in private. Though he wasn't sure of that; sometimes he was better off not, considering it was Andrew.

"Still, I DID get a little better look when he left. See, the moonlight was coming in pretty strong, and when he went out the window, he really stood out. And he came right by me, you know. Geez, he had the bushiest tail I think I've ever seen!" Carter exclaimed, taking a long drink from his cup.

There was silence. Then Hogan, carefully, obviously trying to hold on to his last shred of patience, said "TAIL? He had a bushy TAIL, Carter??"

"Well, yeah. Some do, some don't, but this one really did! Ya know, when you think about our Iron Eagle sitting back, drinking, picking out someone to tell old stories to, you'd think maybe another officer, an old friend, maybe. You wouldn't immediately think "squirrel", would you?" (3) all with a look of total cluelessness on that face that now radiated SOMETHING, at least to Peter Newkirk.

Well, Newkirk wasn't sure if it was mischief, satisfaction, or just pure 'Andrew', but even he couldn't move quickly enough to intercept that reprimanding slap upside the head delivered by their commanding officer. Yeah, a lot harder than the tap HE'D given, certainly.

But, he reflected, it could have been worse. There had been that reluctant flicker of amusement in Hogan's face, then that snort of appreciation that pointed to that being the worst punishment Carter would get for leading them all on that way.

{"And besides, my bet that Andrew would come up with something really unique this time, something we'd never even 'ave thought of betting on? But a squirrel, in a fez? That 'as got to be a winner!"}

"You're gonna drive 'im round the bend one of these days, Andrew," Newkirk cautioned later when they were in private, though still chuckling over the look in Hogan's face as he left the barracks to try and get something, ANYTHING, that made sense from Klink. Frankly, from the way the Iron Eagle had been staggering as he made his way from the car to his quarters, Newkirk figured all Hogan would get would be snores.

Somehow, though he admitted amusement wasn't something you would think to expect in a prisoner of war camp, once Andrew Carter arrived, Newkirk had found a surprising amount at his fingertips. And for someone of his dour nature, a natural gift enhanced by a bitter lifetime of experience, that was a surprise in itself, that he was recognizing, accepting, appreciating what Andrew had to offer in the way of entertainment. There was one thing more, though he would rather have a tooth pulled than to admit to feeling such a thing. Recognizing, accepting, appreciating. And loving it. (4)

"Maybe, Peter, but just saying "Klink sat there for way over an hour, maybe two even, having this really neat if kinda weird conversation with a squirrel in a funny hat," it just seemed kinda lame, ya know? There was just so much material there, it deserved a heck of a lot more in buildup. It wasn't easy, though, putting it together just right. I spent most of the way back figuring out how to start, really get everyone interested. Well, that and avoiding that tire iron! My grandfather, the medicine man? He could tell one heck of a story, and he had it all figured out. The beginning, that's real important, ya know. Really, cause that's when you've got to start the sell, and you pretty much gotta do that right at the beginning, or else you're just, well, telling a story. No, you gotta SELL it, make them real anxious to buy what you're selling, which is a lot harder, he always said. I think the hardest thing is to sell the story. (5) Heck, anyone can just TELL it, ya know; it takes real talent to sell it!" 

Newkirk laughed deep in his chest, shaking his head as he reached out to ruffle Andrew's hair, as he hugged him with one arm around those narrow shoulders.

"I think you sold it just right, Andrew. Just right." {"Does that mean there really was a squirrel? And that the bloody squirrel really WAS wearing a hat???! No, I bloody well don't want to know!"}

Andrew Carter smiled with deep contentment; it wasn't easy getting Peter Newkirk to smile, much less laugh. Getting a hug in the bargain, that was just whipped cream on top of the hot fudge sundae in his book. Of course, that was all kinda private stuff, and he was glad no one else was around or Peter would have been too embarrassed to do that much. Heck, with any luck, if he played his cards right, Carter might even get another hug or two.

No, Carter wouldn't tell Newkirk about Gerda either. Not now, maybe not ever. Some things, well, some things were just meant to be kept private. Like that hug, like all the rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts Used:  
> 1\. I once accidentally bought a horse.  
> 2\. I don't know what he was, but he was wearing a fez.  
> 3\. You wouldn't immediately think "squirrel", would you?  
> 4\. And loving it.  
> 5\. I think the hardest thing is to sell the story.
> 
> Reference: Story, 'Hogan and The Three Sisters'


End file.
